Bidding farewell vnto the world for euer, There in my chamber, as a forlorne guest, My wretched selfe I wilfully did seuer From all resort, where with long night opprest (For day did shun the place of mine vnrest) To yeeld griefe passage, after sad sighes giuen, Thus oft I call’d, with hands vp-lift to heau’n. 111. “Thou powerfull God, whose champion I haue been Fiue cold bleake winters, both by day and night, In field against the cursed Saracen, Although I seeme forgotten in thy sight, Yet now behold me heere a wofull wight: And seeing I liue in such calamitie, Send death to end my dolefull miserie. 112. Can I distinguish day from darkesome night? Or do I know the seasons of the yeare? Know I when spring deckes earth with sweet delight, When summer’s sun glads earth with his bright cleare, Or when in woods Autumnus’ fruits appeare? O no, of nought but winter can I tell, Whom by his boystrous blasts, I know right well. 113. Where is become that azure concauite, That doth so many wonders rare infold? Where all the host of starres, so infinite? Where daie’s great monarch drawne in carre of gold? Where night’s bright queene, so beautious to behold? O still, they do remaine in heau’n’s faire frame, Although I neuer more shall see the same. 114. Where now the valley greene, and mountaine bare, The riuer, forrest, wood, and crystall springs, The hauke, the hound, the hinde, the swift-foot hare, The lute’s sweet straine, the voice that sweetly sings, And princely sports in courts of mightie kings? Where now are these? O let not memorie With thought of these augment my miserie. 115. Heere do I sit in shades of darkenesse grim, While others walke in light at libertie: Heere I in waues of wofull teares do swim, Condoling my vnhappie miserie, While others laugh, and sing for iollitie: Send then, O God, send death for my reliefe, Too heauie is the burthen of my griefe.” 116. Thus many times, with bitter plaint and mone, To vtter woes in words I did assay, Witnesse ye wastefull walles, whose flintie stone Haue euen dropt teares, to heare me night and day, With pitious voice lament mine owne decay, Oft wishing death, which sorow in the end, And _Henrie’s_ vnkind scoffe did timelesse send. 117.